Harry Potter 1. First Interrogation

**The Interrogator**  
_**by Reiko Katsura**_

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**Rating**: M+  
**Genres**: Romance, Angst, Drama, Smut, Dark-themes  
**Pairings:** Main: Harry/Scorpius, Harry/Draco  
**Warnings/Alerts:** AU. Misuse of the spell _stupefy_. Sex, the non-con and dub-con kind. Oh, and multiple shifts in character perspectives.

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**Betas**:  
-Shinjifukishima: _You cleaned this fic like nothing else. I always love your beta jobs! Thank you!_  
-El_Gilliath: _Thank you so much for the support! It really helped!_  
-The Mad Mermaid: _You did a amazing job betaing this fic! Your input was invaluable. Thanks so much!_  
-Big_Bookworm: _Lovely, lovely job with this! Your suggestions made this fic much more approachable. Thank you!_

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**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter or its respective characters. Believe me, I don't. Ginny would have died in CoS. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary**: Scorpius Malfoy is captured in Knockturn Alley, and handed over to Interrogator Harry Potter for questioning. Little did Scorpius know that he would be just the bait to lead his father, ex-death-eater-in-hiding Draco Malfoy, in as well.

**A/N**: This was my pinch-fic written for **HP_Prisonerfest**, for GirlofAvalon! I hope you enjoy this fic! See you at the end!

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_**The Prompt:**  
_

_**Recipient:** girlofavalon  
**Desired rating of your gift (G to NC-17):** hard R or NC-17  
**A few pairings you'd like to receive or gen:** top!Harry/bottom!Draco,  
Lucius/Harry, any DE/Draco, Harry/Scorpius  
**Situations, genres, things, etc., you would like to see: **rape or dub-con,  
slavery, kidnapping, punishment, post-war interrogatory, orgasm denial or  
forced orgasm, rimming, hair-pulling, crying, BDSM, and I like it when the  
top comes all over the bottom's buttocks instead of inside in anal sex. If  
you write H/D, you could include unrequired or pseudo-unrequired love, and  
a hopeful ending.  
**Situations, genres, things, etc., you would NOT like to see:** Voldemort  
winning the war, needle or breath play, piss, watersports, knives, gag,  
major character death  
**Prompts: **torches, cellar, chains_

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**The Interrogator**

**Part: 01**

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Harry Potter had seen too much at too young an age. He had been spared the trauma of having to witness his parents being murdered, but even that one mercy had been taken away by the Dementors in his third year. Too much had happened to a boy so young: facing Voldemort at eleven and a basilisk at twelve; coming face to face with the man who had been a major cause in his parent's death, only to find out that it had been someone else entirely, in his third year; the Goblet of Fire, the resurrection of Voldemort, the death of Cedric Diggory—all in his fourth year; the dreams and the death of Sirius Black, his godfather who he had come to love so much, in his fifth year; the death of his mentor, Dumbledore, having to uncover the history and secrets of Voldemort in sixth year; and lastly seventh year, when the load of everything became unbearable. Too many deaths, too many battles, too many realizations. Once Harry became aware that he was a part of Lord Voldemort—a _Horcrux_, and that his death was inevitable if he wished to defeat Voldemort, topped all off by the fact the Dumbledore had _known_, he had snapped.

The anger, the pain, the betrayal, the loss—it had all piled up to an excruciating weight and seized at his chest and mind like the Cruciatus Curse. Killing Voldemort and efficiently ending the war had been all blur to him. During the celebrations that rocked through the Wizarding world like a gala, he hadn't wanted to smile. He hadn't wanted to cry in relief with his friends, or reminisce about the past and those gone. Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, just wanted to **die**. That, or lock himself in a house—in _any_ house— and never come out. His friends hadn't allowed the latter, and they certainly didn't know about the former—and if they thought it, they never openly said anything. They pushed him to be an Auror, not understanding how tired Harry was of fighting. His restlessness, however, clashed with his need to be idle, and that's when Harry Potter decided to be an Auror that dealt with interrogation. There was much to clean up after the war: so many Death Eaters had escaped, and there was a heavy fear that a new dark lord would start a new reign from them. Ron and Hermione—anyone left alive, really—disapproved of his career choice. It's too dark a job, they told him constantly. Harry didn't have the skills needed to do well. He was too Gryffindor; his emotions were too strong, he got riled too easily, and he certainly didn't have it in him to possibly become a torturer.

When they told him that, Harry had smiled mysteriously and assured them it would be okay. Voldemort was dead, but the overall threat to the Wizarding world wasn't. He still had a job to do, and his own personal feelings couldn't get in the way of that. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley had cried in pride at his devotion to the light. The Minister had looked at him with barely concealed admiration and awe.

He had been given the job after a week-long crash course by Alastor Moody. No one had bothered to make him enroll in Auror classes. No one made him go back to school and take his N.E.W.T.'s. No one had bothered to doubt his capability. Within two weeks of making his decision, Rodolphus Lestrange had been captured and it was up to Harry to retrieve information from him. No one had bothered to see, let alone notice, just how fractured his mind had become.

And they didn't question him, either, when he came out of the Lestrange's security room one week later, looking the best he had in months.

* * *

Harry waltzed into the Ministry of Magic, a bright smile on his face and a hop in his step. He grinned at everyone who greeted him, he flirted with one of the witches at the front desk, and he joked with his co-workers in the elevator. When the lift stopped on the seventh floor—the floor dedicated to the Aurors—he bid his friends farewell and practically skipped to his office.

On the way there he came across Ron, but that wasn't an unusual thing; their offices were only a few meters apart. Ron smiled at Harry as soon as their eyes met, and fell into step with him.

"Hermione's been badgering me to make you come over for dinner," Ron told him as they turned a corner. "She says you've been spending too much time at work and have forgotten her."

Harry laughed, a sound that even then—twenty years after the war— rang almost unfamiliar in his ears.

"Tell Hermione that I'm not. I'm _hiding_ from her. There's a difference."

This time, it was Ron who barked a laugh. He knew just how exasperated Harry had become with his wife ever since she had started playing match maker to him and nearly any woman who showed an interest of dating _the_ Harry Potter—which was a lot. Harry had made it clear that he wasn't looking to be in a relationship, but Hermione, as always, refused to relent and kept pursuing girls for him. She became even more irritated when Harry had stopped meeting the girls when she set up dates, and now turned to giving them his address to Owl to. Of course, Harry burned most of the letters as soon as they came. Hermione would get it one way or another.

"I don't understand, mate," Ron continued as they turned another hall, "why you're not interested in dating. You're 37—little Harry must be sore as fuck by now."

Harry grinned at his friend.

They stopped in front of a large black door with the name _H. Potter_ engraved in thick, gold letters into it.

"Just because I'm not dating doesn't mean I don't have sex," Harry said with a smirk, and disappeared into the room. He heard Ron splutter from the hall, and knew rather than saw him come into the office behind him.

"What? When was this?!" Ron asked loudly as Harry made his way to his desk and plopped into the chair behind it. He looked at the stacks of piling paperwork disdainfully and turned to Ron.

"For about twenty years now, I think," Harry joked.

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Who?" he demanded.

Harry shrugged, nonchalantly. He shrugged his outer robe off from his shoulders, and rotated them backwards. "Various people. No one important. Mostly just one-night stands, the likes. Nothing ever serious."

Ron looked absolutely flabbergasted. "From where?!"

Harry shrugged again. "Around."

His friend shook his head, shocked. "How did I not know about this?"

"It's not really important. And like I said, they're never important people. I make myself clear that I'm not looking for anything long-term. Hell, even short-term."

Ron shook his head again, his shoulder length red hair swishing across his neck. "I can't believe you never told us, Harry. Hermione would have a fit if she knew."

"And that's why I never told her," Harry said, plainly.

Ron looked wounded. "And me?"

"You don't talk about your sex life. I don't see why I have to."

"Blimey, Harry, I would tell you if I _had_ much of one. Ever since Hermione's had Rose and Hugo, she's been holding off sex for the longest. Afraid that any more kids will make her lose her figure. I can't even reassure her with condoms anymore because—well, _Hugo_. She refuses to take a potion, too. We haven't had sex in almost three weeks."

Harry pulled a sympathetic face. He'd gone for longer, but wasn't about to willingly make Ron feel any better. Not in that area, anyways.

Harry began to flick through the letters at the very top of his desk, using a spell Hermione had taught him to sort through the most recent ones. A particular green envelope, lost within a pile of reports, caught his attention, and he picked it up quickly. At once he noticed the Minister's seal. Harry pointed his wand at the envelope and the top part tore cleanly open. He pulled a white sheet of paper out, unfolded it, and scanned it quickly. By the time he reached the Minister's signature he felt a smirk tugging at his lips and it took near everything he had to prevent it from spilling.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Ron pulled himself from his own ranting long enough to watch Harry open the letter. "What's that?" he asked as Harry stood from his chair.

"Work."

Ron frowned, but didn't push it. It had taken a lot on both their parts to come across Harry's occupational bridge. He absolutely refused to give out information of his work—both as policy as an interrogator and his personal decision. Ron hadn't liked it at first, but realized that he had no option but tolerate it, since Harry wouldn't budge. For some reason, Ron couldn't differentiate between secrets _he_ had and secrets that came from the job. To him, Harry was just not telling him things, and it was as simple as that. Even Hermione had argued with Ron to get over it, but Ron just couldn't. It had caused a strain in their relationship for the first couple of years since Harry had become an interrogator, and though Ron had calmed down immensely since then, he still hated that Harry couldn't tell him anything.

"What's it say?"

"Just that I need to speak with the Minister as soon as possible."

They both knew that it said more than that, but Ron—thankfully—let it go.

"Right. Well, I'll see you later, Harry. And _do_ stop avoiding 'Mione. She's driving me absolutely nutters."

Harry chuckled as Ron grinned at him and left the office. He waited a few minutes before he grabbed his cloak from the chair and followed suit.

* * *

_Dear Harry, _

_We've captured a death eater sympathizer, related to one of Voldemort's top lackeys. He needs to be interrogated. _

_It's Malfoy. _

_Meet me at the interrogation dorm as soon as you receive this. _

_--Kingsley. _

_P.S. And do stop avoiding Hermione. She's owled me no less than five times in the last week alone demanding you be given less hours. I'll be docking your pay by half if I receive another howler during dinner._

_

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_

The interrogation dorm wasn't a place that many knew existed. Only a select few had access to it, and they were only a handful of Aurors, the Minister himself, and the interrogators. There was a still painting of Dumbledore in the Minister's office, and two taps to one blue, twinkling eye would immediately Portkey them to the main base of the dorm. Harry had always thought it so ironic—the device that led to a place of pain and torture was in the eyes of the Wizarding world's most beloved person.

"Hello, Minister," Harry greeted the darker man who was extravagantly robed in silver and gold mosaic-patterned robes.

Kingsley sighed. "What did I tell you about calling me Minister, Harry?"

Harry smiled at him, sheepishly. "Right. Kingsley," he amended. He watched as Kingsley smiled widely at him and gestured for him to come closer. As soon as Harry did, he reached out with a closed fist and Harry lifted his own palm under it. Something small and cold dropped into his hand and Harry didn't even have to look at it to know that it was a key.

"Sir?"

The smile on Kingsley's face disappeared and was replaced with the all-business face of the Minister.

"The Aurors who were patrolling Knockturn Alley yesterday morning following a cloaked man who came from the Floo. Followed him into an Apothecary shop. The items he bought weren't unusual or dangerous—mostly herbs and items for healing potions, Pepper-ups, cheering potions, and the likes. It was the cloaked face that set the Aurors off. The man paid the shop owner and left the store without trouble. As soon as he left a gust of wind picked up and blew his hood right off. One of the Aurors recognized the blonde hair at once and he was arrested immediately."

Harry frowned at Kingsley. "Draco Malfoy?" It couldn't be Lucius, since his body was found at the final battle. Took an Avada Kedavra right to the chest. No one had even bothered to try and find out who had killed him. Not that that surprised Harry—no one bothered to find out lots of things.

The Minister shook his head. "Nope."

Harry's frowned deepened. He knew for a fact that Narcissa Malfoy had become a permanent neighboring patient to the Longbottoms at St. Mungo's. Were there any other Malfoy's he didn't know about?

"His name is Scorpius Malfoy," Kingsley continued, and elaborated when he noticed the blank on Harry's face. "Draco Malfoy's son."

Harry's eyes widened and he looked at Kingsley in shock. Malfoy had a son?

As if reading his mind, he nodded. "Scorpius Lucius Malfoy aged 18."

Harry quickly did the math in his head. If the kid was 18, then Draco must have had him when he was 19. So the Death Eaters went into hiding and started sprouting babies. Lovely. What did they expect to do? Create the next generation of evil dark lords?

"Do you think…" Harry started, frowning.

"That's what you're going to figure out."

Harry smiled at Kingsley. Oh, how well the man thought he knew him.

"Veritaserum?"

Kingsley shook his head. "Refused. We only managed to get an age and name from him because of a truth spell. As soon as he realized what was happening, he put Occlumency shields up."

Harry found it beyond idiotic that the Veritaserum administration laws were still being enforced. It was illegal for anyone, the Minister included, to force the truth serum on anyone unwilling. Kingsley was trying to keep to the old laws as much as possible. When Harry had questioned him before, he simply said, "Dark wizards are still wizards. There is no distinction in the law between light and dark ones."

The Minister was foolish, Harry thought. Kingsley must know that, though laws stated it was illegal, certain interrogators still resorted to torture for information—though not nearly as cruelly as the Death Eaters would have done it. Each interrogator had their own system of making a person break, and they were privy to keep that system disclosed. Harry, for one, had never tortured a prisoner. No one knew what he did to get most of them to talk, only that he was damn good at his job. He fought as another smirk threatened to spread across his face. If they knew, they would be horrified. Harry might not be sentenced to Azkaban, but he would certainly lose his license for all eternity. He couldn't stop the bitter grin from coming even if he wanted to.

There were other ways to torture people, ways that didn't have to involve violence.

He bit back the grin, forcefully.

At least, violence as described in the Ministry's books of allowances.

Harry gripped the key in his hand tightly and slipped it into his robe pocket.

"My usual room, sir?" Harry asked, and tried not to appear too eager. His heart was already beginning to pound harshly in his chest. He wanted to be dismissed. He _needed_ to be dismissed. He hadn't had an official assignment in more than three months. And Ron had the audacity to complain that he hadn't had sex for almost three weeks. Ron knew _nothing_.

"Yes." Kingsley nodded, and Harry saw it for what it was: a dismissal.

He inwardly hissed in excitement, and turned to leave the room much quicker than what probably looked normal. He couldn't let Kingsley know how excited he was. If Kingsley even _suspected_ what went on in Harry's interrogation room…

Harry's hand reached the knob when Kingsley called out, "Oh, and Harry?"

Harry turned slowly, and gave the Minister a curious smile.

"What _is_ it that you do to the captives? Our healers never find any trace of remnant abuse or mind alteration or trauma."

Harry smiled wider. "That's because I _don't_ abuse them, sir." Interrogators were allowed to rough the captives up, and quite badly, but the Minister had made it clear on more than one occasion that torture was not to be applied. He had healers check over the captives' bodies for any trace of serious internal or external injury. Injury that would be long term, if not permanent, anyway.

"Everything I do is quite natural."

Kingsley quirked a brow. That's all Harry had ever said about his methods in all the years since he became an interrogator.

"Right. Run along, then. And do see what our little Malfoy has been up to."

Harry nodded, and pushed forward a look of determination on his face. The Minister grinned in approval, and waved Harry away.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Harry allowed his restraints to falter and began to chuckle darkly. He pulled his wand out of his robe, began to twirl it with his fingers, and made his way down the corridor as he hummed aloud. Merlin, he was excited. As soon as he turned the corner, he quickened his pace. He couldn't be late, after all.

He had a prisoner to break.

* * *

Harry had expected Scorpius Malfoy to look a lot like his apparent father. Draco had basically been a miniature figure of his own Dad, and from a portrait that Harry had once seen hanging in Malfoy manor, the same could be said about Lucius.

But this—Harry shook his head as he locked the door —was almost scary. The boy looked exactly like Draco had, when Harry remembered last seeing him. He had been seventeen then. The similarities were frightening. The only difference that Harry could truly take note of was that the boy's face was not nearly as pointy as his father's had been. That and he looked to be a bit taller.

Scorpius Malfoy sat in a hard black chair, his wrists and ankles strapped down by magical binds. His hair was slightly long—reaching down to his back and sweeping just over his shoulders. He sat straight, and his robes were torn and muddy. _So_, Harry concluded as he observed the man in the dark room, _he put up a fight when the Aurors tried to restrain him.  
_  
_Excellent_. He liked them to struggle. Everything was much more exciting that way.

Scorpius Malfoy watched as Harry drew near. His eyes—a grayish blue, and Harry took note that Scorpius' eyes were different from his fathers', as well—stared at him hard. His cheekbones, sunken and pale, dipped sharply into a tightly clenched jaw, and he looked absolutely livid.

Harry smiled at him, and the boy stiffened.

"Hullo," Harry greeted, and gave a quick scan around the room. It was his usual space, the last door on the third floor. The room was empty, with only a chair in the middle and a hospital bed at the corner. There were two doors at the very back; the first led to his private rooms, where Harry basically lived when he interrogated. The second led to the infirmary of the base, though it was only a one way door. No one could enter from the outside. The main door, which led to this particular room, was locked by him, as well. The Minister might have thought that he held the key to the room, but he was wrong. He was _so_ wrong. Only Harry could enter the room, since he spelled it to open with a password. And since the password he used was in Parseltongue, he was pretty sure of his security measures. The door to his chamber and the infirmary were also spelled the same way. Couldn't have the prisoners escaping or let anyone unwanted come in, after all. The Minister had never come in without first alerting Harry thus far, and so Harry had always had time to banish the locking spell. If the Minister ever found out about it he would surely want answers. He could always lie, but really, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Who are you?" the boy spat, and Harry quirked a brow. Well, he didn't sound like Draco, either.

"I'm nearly ten years your elder, boy," Harry drawled, approaching slowly. "You should speak to me with more respect than that."

Scorpius growled at him, and Harry returned it with a grin.

He conjured a chair and sat directly in front of the kid, knowing that the binds would not allow him to move, and the chair was firmly set to the stone. As soon as Harry sat, Scorpius tried to launch forward.

Harry laughed. "Feisty one, aren't you?"

Scorpius snarled, and continued to struggle.

"It's necessary procedure," he told him, sounding almost bored, "so I can't avoid it. Here goes: My name is Harry, and I'm your interrogator. Nice to meet you."

Scorpius said nothing, choosing instead to glare daggers.

Harry tutted him in disapproval. "Let's move on. You've been offered the option of confessing under Veritaserum, but refused. That is why you find yourself in my interrogation room. You can either willingly answer my questions or," And Harry hadn't meant to sound so cliché and add to it by smiling, but he did, "I'll make you answer them."

Scorpius glared harder.

"I see you aren't going to cooperate," Harry sighed tragically, loving every second of this opening game. "That's alright, though. You will. They _always_ do."

When Scorpius remained silent, Harry continued. "Where's your father, Scorpius?"

Still nothing. Not that Harry had expected anything more. "That's only one of the questions you will answer by the end of our entire session. By the end of the week, you will be telling me who your mother is, the location of all of your father's Death Eater friends, why you were at the Apothecary, who else has been born from the last generation of Death Eaters, as well as any plans you and your father might have." He paused, and then smiled cruelly. "Amongst a number of other things."

Scorpius Malfoy paled, but his tight jaw didn't let anything out, not even the tiniest quiver. Harry grinned again, and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at Scorpius, and smirked when he saw the boy flinch. At once his clothes were spelled off, and they dropped to the floor in a puff. Harry took in, greedily, the sight of silver-blue eyes opening wide in shock, and small lips opening in surprise, and he _purred_.

"Let the games begin."

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**TBC.**

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**A/N: Hullo, everyone. I hope you enjoyed reading so far. The fic is about 20k, and broken up into 4 parts. I'll post the first two parts today, and the last two either tomorrow or sometime early this week. Review, please. Tell me what you think! **


	2. Second Interrogation

**The Interrogator  
_by Reiko Katsura_**

*****  
**Rating**: M+  
**Genre**: Romance, Angst, Drama, Smut, Dark-themes  
**Pairing**: Harry/Scorpius, Harry/Draco  
**Warnings/Alerts:** AU. Misuse of the spell stupefy. Sex, the non-con and dub-con kind. Oh, and multiple shifts in character perspectives.  
**Betas**: Shinjifukishima, El_Gilliath, The Mad Mermaid, and Big_Bookworm: _Thank you so much! You guys were invaluable.  
_  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter or its respective characters. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary**: Scorpius Malfoy is captured in Knockturn Alley, and handed over to Interrogator Harry Potter for questioning. Little did Scorpius know that he would be just the bait to lead his father, ex-death-eater-in-hiding Draco Malfoy, in as well.

**A/N**:This was my pinch-fic written for HP_Prisonerfest, for GirlofAvalon! I hope you enjoy this fic! See you at the end!

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**Part: 02**

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"Do you know," Harry said conversationally, "your father did everything in his power to make my life at Hogwarts complete hell?"

Harry was sitting on Scorpius's naked lap, his legs opened and straddling his thighs. "He did everything in his power to make my life miserable. Sometimes he even succeeded. But that was back when I was able to get so easily riled up. I expect Draco Malfoy wouldn't even be able to make me twitch, now."

They were sitting in a large chair in the middle of a dark cellar. Torches were the only things keeping the room lit, perched on metal handles on the grey, thick walls. The floors were brown marble, and were cool under Harry's bare feet. He took a minute to admire his artwork; the illusion was very well done, and did much to set the ominous mood. He had never been one to cast good illusions, but his talent in it had improved approvingly since he became an interrogator. Needless to say, Harry performed them quite often.

Scorpius was still bound by chain-like straps, the magic restraining his movements. The chair in which he sat reclined backwards, so Harry had a total view of his body. The boy, he admitted hungrily, was absolutely marvelous.

"I must say, I'm happy you look so much like him. Makes things all the more interesting. Draco Malfoy, tied underneath me, naked and cold…" he trailed off, and licked his lips at the thought.

Scorpius hissed and tried to move. "Don't you dare talk about my father that way!" he snarled.

Harry quirked a brow. "You've got a bit of a temper, don't you? No worries; you'll be tamed soon enough." Harry nonverbally cast _Silencio_, and smiled as Scorpius glared at him in outrage. Captives were always best when they were either whimpering or silent. Silence would have to suffice for now, he decided.

He looked down and frowned at Scorpius's limp cock. No, that wouldn't do at all. It was always the beginning that was most difficult.

He pointed his wand at Scorpius's crotch and whispered the spell that he knew would be the start of his unraveling.

He watched in amusement as the limp object twitched, and began to stir.

Harry smiled and patted him on his knee. "Just a small stimulant spell. I do things a bit differently, you see," He ran a finger along the side of the quickly hardening shaft and said, "Oh, Scorpius… by the end of the interrogation, you're going to be _begging_ me for release. Every one of your secrets—no matter the size—will be spilling from your mouth along with the moans. You won't be able to stop—your mind will be completely overcome with lust and desire. The only thing you'll be thinking about is coming. But it won't happen." His whole hand engulfed the hot member and he squeezed. "You'll ask and plead and beg… but I won't give in. You won't be able to come. Not until every last secret spills from your mouth willingly."

Scorpius's mouth began to move angrily, and all too amused to hear his ranting, Harry removed the silence spell. He winced as shouting erupted in his ears.

"You fucking pervert! Let me _go_!"

Wincing again, Harry cast _Silencio_ once more. "No, I don't think so," he frowned, his ears ringing. "You're as loud as your father, you know. Always screeching about something." Harry's eyes glinted and he smiled vindictively, "Soon you'll be screeching about something else, though."

Without another glance at the squirming figure, Harry pointed his wand at Scorpius's pale chest and whispered "_Aphrosias_". He removed the silencing spell just in time to hear Scorpius let out a choked cry. His body arched forward as much as it could with the magical restraints, and Harry slid off his lap to admire his work.

"_Aphrosias_, a spell that acts like a strong aphrodisiac."

Scorpius shivered, and arched again. "Oh, I know exactly what you're feeling at the moment. Like someone is running a hot tongue across your dick, toying with your nipples, brushing your prostate… it feels wonderful doesn't it?"

Scorpius cried out again and Harry pointed his wand and said "_Finite_."

The younger man convulsed once, and then leaned back into the chair weakly. It was more than obvious that the boy was a virgin—the Aphrosias only worked so powerfully on those who had never had sex. Harry had barely kept it on for a minute and already he had resulted into a quivering mess. It wouldn't take long to break him. It wouldn't take long at all.

"_Finite_," the magical chains shivered and dropped to the floor with a clank. "_Levicorpus_!"

Scorpius's body lifted upwards, sloppily, and Harry levitated him onto the bed at the nearest corner. He summoned the chains to him and they wrapped around Scorpius's nude form without so much as an incantation. With Scorpius Malfoy—Draco Malfoy's son—laying nude and open before him, Harry could hardly control himself. He raked his eyes across his body, stopping at his most attractive points, the lean muscles in his neck, the protruding chest bone, the hard, delicate chest; Harry admired the soft, barely boxed stomach and the deep, sexy navel. His eyes paused on the taut pelvis, and then dropped to his long, delicate feet. They moved up his legs, taking in every quiver and every shudder, and smiling deeper because of it. Up the calves, up the knees, up the thighs, and then his eyes landed on the sexiest place of all: Scorpius's cock.

It wasn't large, nor was it small. It was thin and slender, an angry red from the pressure of his need. It touched the dip of his belly, wet and glistening with sweat and pre-cum. His balls were lovely; pinkish-brown and perfectly oval, dipping smoothly between separated legs.

"_Aphrosias_."

Scorpius shouted again, and Harry watched in fascination as his cock darkened and push upwards, as if it too were begging. He watched as Scorpius swung his hips, and Harry licked his lips as the straining shaft went with it. Scorpius arched, his bare arse coming off the bed in inches, and Harry's breath caught at the fleeting sight of a dark opening.

Harry looked on, admiring as the slim body thrashed against the bed pitifully, and moaned when his own body began to respond almost drastically.

Well. Fuck.

"_Finite_!"

At once the body ceased its movements and lowered.

Scorpius was panting, as if he had just finished running a marathon, and already his skin was slick with sweat, despite the cool air of the dungeon.

Harry moved forward, his teeth clenched, and placed a hand on one pale thigh. The body under his touch shivered.

"Now look what you've done, Scorpius," he chided, his voice leaking with admonishment.

Still breathing heavily, Scorpius tilted his head forward slightly, and looked at Harry with narrowed, glazed-over eyes.

Harry cupped his own aching cock over the material of his robe, and bit back a moan. He hadn't been this aroused since he had interrogated Pansy Parkinson almost a year ago. It was Harry who was supposed to cause the pleasurable pain. It was _he_ who was supposed to have been in control. Always in control! Pansy had been punished for causing him to lose it. Causing him to get hard before she had even cum.

Draco—

No, Harry froze. Not Draco. This wasn't Draco. As wonderful as it would have been if it were him, it wasn't; and Harry would do well not to forget it.

"Scorpius," he repeated, if only to hear the newly learned name roll of his lips. "Scorpius…"

Suddenly, Harry barked out a laugh, and Scorpius flinched further into the mattress.

"You must be feeling very proud of yourself, Scorp. Making me—"

"Don't you dare call me that!"

Harry blinked in surprise, and looked down to see the younger man struggling once again. "You—you have no right! Don't you dare call me that!"

Harry frowned, and was about to chastise him for being rude yet again, when an idea formed in his head and he smiled.

He took in Scorpius's weary expression with glee.

"Does daddy call you that, Scorp?"

The younger boy's face brightened in fury and he made another futile attempt to lurch forward.

"I bet daddy does. Does he make you feel as good as I do—"

"Fuck you!" he screamed loudly, and a small flicker of magic shot out of him.

Harry took a tiny step back in surprise.

"Temper," Harry reminded him, frowning at having been forced back, even though it had only been less than an inch or so.

"What would Draco say if he knew his son was so disrespectful?"

"I said don't—!"

Harry cast _Silencio_ again. Sighing, he shook his head.

"And obviously deaf. I'll make sure to add punishment for your ineptness—if not impudence."

Harry moved forward, leering, and pointed his wand.

* * *

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… _

Scorpius arched in the bed as his interrogator cast _Aphrosias_ again. He wanted to come—he wanted to come so badly—but the ring around his cock, the one that the man had spelled on him just moments before, prevented him from doing so.

He could hardly take it anymore. Harry—and Scorpius had immediately recognized him as Harry Potter—was tearing away every iota of his self control. He was going mad from the spell. The soft touches and wandering hands were turning his body into a heated mess. Spell long gone, he could no longer restrain himself from holding back his moans and screams. Harry Potter was _torturing him_, and he hadn't even needed to cast the Cruciatus to do it.

When Draco had decided to venture out to Knockturn Alley yesterday morning, in need of restocking items for his potions, Scorpius had pleaded with him not to do so. He told his father he had a bad feeling, and Scorpius was never one to ignore intuition. However, Draco had argued that he needed to go. His supply of Wormwood and Basaltine, the main ingredients for the potion he needed to prevent his bad knee from locking and hurting like hell, was nearly empty. That, and they were in desperate need of Crysalt, the foundation of the Langston Potion that helped Scorpius with his terrible asthma attacks. Draco had not relented, and so Scorpius had convinced his father that he would go, instead. He was quicker than his dad—not suffering from a knee injury—and had taken the Langston Potion earlier that day; running would cause him no problems.

It had been a harsh argument, since Draco had always been overprotective of him, but Scorpius had managed to convince his father, as he was often prone to do.

He ventured into Knockturn, ready to buy the ingredients and leave just as quickly, when that blasted burst of air pushed his hood right off and announce his person to the Aurors, no less.

Scorpius knew he was screwed.

The Aurors had asked him questions, roughed him up, and had even attempted to perform a truth spell. He blocked them with his Occlumency shields—a skill taught to him by his paranoid father—and kept his mouth shut.

There would be no one to save him, he knew, and he didn't want anyone to, either. It was his own fault for getting caught, and he wouldn't let anyone else be captured because of it.

When the Aurors had manhandled him into the dark, empty room, which now made the illusion of a chamber, Scorpius had wanted to cry in fear; he was going to be interrogated. His father had told him all about what the Death Eaters and Voldemort had done to those who withheld information. As he sat in the dark room alone, for nearly three hours, images of knives, barbed wire, whips, chains, hammers, screws, and irons had rang terrifying in his mind. The spells that he knew magic was capable of … Scorpius swallowed heavily. How would he be able to keep his mouth shut if someone was threatening to cut his fingers off? He had never been one for pain; a weakness that he had inherited from his father. As a kid, a mere paper cut would be the cause of minutes spent crying.

However he would _have_ to endure it. Scorpius felt horrible knowing that there was a chance his father could get caught. Worse, that he could-- if not would-- be the one to sell out his friends and family. He'd rather be tortured than to be a traitor.

The Malfoys—or what was left of them—lived in a manor off the coast of Wales. It was untraceable, Unplottable, and was completely overwhelmed by wards and secrecy charms. They weren't the only ones who lived there, however. Blaise Zabini was also a permanent member, as well as Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle and his wife Millicent nee Bulstrode and twins Hemsey and Hailey. Astoria Greengrass—Scorpius's mother—had once been a member as well, but she had died when Scorpius had turned ten because of a Muggle disease called cancer—a sickness that was easily curable for Wizards /iif/i they had the right medication and equipment. They didn't, though—how could they when access to potions was so limited? It wasn't as if they could just walk into St. Mungo's, get cured, and return home. If the healers didn't hex them first, the Aurors would when they were called, and they _would be_ called.

A young witch named Larass Morringson had once lived there as well, but had been caught and arrested when she had tried to break into her previous home and get back some of her treasured things. She tripped the alarms, however, and hadn't even managed to get to the second floor before the Aurors surrounded her. Larass had been smart, though, and had sealed all her memories of the manor and its inhabitants before she left, in the case she was caught, in a Pensieve like object that Draco had taken from Malfoy manor.

They had gotten no valuable information from her—nothing that would lead to their capture—and now Larass was rotting in Azkaban, as she has been for the past near decade. Scorpius hadn't taken the time to extract his memories. The most he could do now was come out of the interrogation with most of his secrets still secret, and pray that the Dementors were no longer patrolling Azkaban.

He was his father's only son. Draco had always told him that he was his pride, his joy, his everything; his reason for surviving and for being sane. What would his father do now that he was gone? Scorpius only hoped that his Dad would be able to move on from this.

"What are you thinking about?"

So lost in his worries for his father, Scorpius had completely forgotten that he was laying naked before a man who, up until that point, had been quite merrily enjoying sexually torturing him.

The man frowned at him, and Scorpius shivered. This was _not_ the Harry Potter who his father had always grudged and ranted about. That Harry Potter had been noble, attention-seeking, full of himself and _Gryffindor_. He had never been to Hogwarts, and so never really knew _what_ a Gryffindor was, but according to Blaise—since his father couldn't be trusted to give an honest, unbiased account—they were brave and loyal and foolhardy; always rushing into danger without thinking twice. They were narrow minded and quick tempered, and just _foolish_.

The man standing in front of him did not fall under his previous perception of what a Gryffindor would be. He was mad, to put it simply. He talked slowly, and his choice of words were carefully administered—not to state the obvious, but to embarrass, demean, and anger him in as few words as possible. The way he looked at him was like a snake slithering over his meal, playing it up. He enjoyed his game too much, and it showed in the way he smiled down at him, so softly, fully portraying just how wicked and crazy he could be, if not already.

No, this man was not a Gryffindor, even derailed. If anything, he leaned more along the lines of a seriously disturbed Slytherin. Scorpius's father had always been kind to him—he never hurt him, he protected him, and didn't hesitate to show his affection—but Scorpius had caught glimpses of his father's more "Slytherin" side. He was cunning, condescending, secretive, and when angered… the man was capable of lots of things.

The way Harry Potter was looking at him now… was very similar to the way his father looked when Daphne Greengrass did something to anger him.

If nothing else, that was enough to terrify him.

"Clearly I'm doing something wrong," Harry murmured again, and Scorpius wanted to shout at him that yes, he was doing something wrong! He'd been doing something wrong for the past two hours or so!

"Maybe you're not receiving enough physical attention. Do you think that's it? Magic is great and all, but nothing can replace the human touch." He said this all so thoughtfully, as if he was just not sure, and then more suddenly than Scorpius cared to note, his eyes snapped to him. Scorpius flinched back in alarm.

"I said I would punish you, but that was nearly an hour ago. You don't look like you've learned your lesson, yet."

"And what lesson is that?" Scorpius found himself hissing. He didn't like anyone telling him he was going to be "punished". Not his father and certainly not this crazy ponce.

Harry _tsked_, and moved forward. "If you don't know, then you haven't learned. And here I thought Malfoys were smart."

Scorpius hissed again, but it wasn't because of his words. It was a warm, moist hand on his cock that did it.

"You like this, don't you?"

No, Scorpius thought frantically as the hand started to slowly move up and down in a tantalizing movement. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. It felt disgusting—

He cried out when Harry's thumb circled the head of his prick, pushing down on the moist slit.

"You do," he said in a matter of fact tone, and continued his pumping ministrations.

_Don't feel it. Don't feel it. Don't feel it—_

Scorpius cried out again when another hand began to fondle his balls. When it tugged on them, he stiffened, thinking he would be able to come, _finally_, because he was hurting so _bad_ and the pressure began to rise to the point that he couldn't even _think_ straight and oh god he was coming—

The hand removed itself and the cock ring took effect.

"_Please_," Scorpius didn't even realize he was begging. Hot tears of desperate need and shame were forming in his eyes. Harry began to pull on his erect nipples, and he wanted to cry so badly. "Please, please, please…"

Scorpius watched with large, glazed eyes as Harry grinned at him and dropped his head to his lower belly. He whimpered when a tongue nudged its way into his navel, circling and wetting it, and then slipped out and began to torturously careen down his pelvis. He whimpered again when teeth scraped the delicate skin under his pubic hair, and right when he reached the one place that was in such desperate need of attention, he stopped.

Scorpius let out a whine of anger as Harry looked up at him, his eyes dancing in glee. Mischievously, his interrogator—his _torturer_— sunk back down and grabbed his fully erect and throbbing cock with one hand. He ran his tongue along the side, from the base to the tip, and on the third lick Scorpius let out a sob.

Merlin, he needed so come so badly. He needed to come! He was going to die if he didn't.

Harry's mouth took him in once, swallowed deeply, and Scorpius cried out in elation. When he pulled out, he couldn't stop his tears from falling even if he tried.

"I would let you come, you know," Harry murmured against his trembling prick. "I could make you feel so good. Imagine," and he licked the underside once, causing Scorpius to hiss, before continuing, "being able to have your way with my mouth. Being able to pound into it without restraint. I would take you in completely, devour you to the hilt. Can you imagine the feel of my teeth lightly scraping against the tender flesh, or the inside of my mouth caressing you? Swallowing every ounce of your cum as you explode into me."

He licked it again, and Scorpius shivered and closed his eyes as the all too vivid image floated in his mind, taunting him—so out of his reach.

"We'll not stop there, though. Oh _no_, Scorpius. I'll make sure that you'll be screaming in ecstasy for _hours_. All you have to do is one little thing for me. Just one and I'll make you feel _so_ good."

"What?" Scorpius croaked, his body practically vibrating by all of the promises made to it. He wanted, no, he _needed_ to come. He would do _anything_.

"Tell me," Harry spoke against Scorpius's cock again, and Scorpius swallowed heavily at the vibrations it caused, "Where Draco Malfoy is."

-

-

-

**TBC**

* * *

**A/N: ^_^+ I hope you enjoyed this! Leave a review and tell me what you think! I'll update the final two chapters, soon. **


	3. Third Interrogation

**The Interrogator**

**Part: 03**

* * *

With Harry's hand still on his cock, and another softly tugging on his balls, Scorpius froze.

How could he have not seen that coming? How could he have allowed it to get so far? Was he so weak—so desperate—that he would do nearly anything to get off, even at the cost of revealing his father's whereabouts?

Scorpius bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and took in a shaky breath.

Harry had been so close in getting what he wanted from him, and it hadn't even been more than a couple of hours. That's not what it felt like, though. To Scorpius, it seemed as if he'd been in that cellar-like room for days. Had it been a spell that his interrogator had cast to make it appear that way, or was it Scorpius's own weak mind that conjured the thought?

Harry noticed the younger boy's startled reticence and narrowed his eyes. "I suppose it was too early to start the questioning," he murmured, never ceasing his attention on Scorpius's cock. "It's your fault, for getting me so impatient and eager. But then you'll have to pay for that, too."

Scorpius shuddered madly at the implication. _Merlin, no_. He couldn't _take_ anymore of Harry Potter's "punishment". He truly couldn't handle it—both body and mind. It had only been a few hours and already he felt like he was only seconds away from breaking.

"I don't think you're learning enough. I don't think what I'm _doing_ is enough. What do you think?"

Scorpius opened his mouth to tell him _exactly_ what he thought, but then Harry's hand clamped over his mouth and he laughed. "No, never mind. Why am I asking you, of all people? No, I should _show_ you."

He didn't even have to be informed of what was coming. Scorpius bit his lip harder and braced himself for the spell. He heard a cry of _Aphrosias_ and nearly screamed out when a wave of heat washed over him, touching everywhere, tantalizing everything.

It felt like hands and tongues were running over every inch of his body. It reached everywhere, not leaving a single inch of his skin uncovered. His taut nipples were tweaked, his cock sucked, his balls licked, his ass squeezed; everything was being tortured. It felt like warm hands were running along the side of his arms, scratching at his back, rubbing his inner thighs. There were suckling sensations on his neck and throat and collar bone, his navel was being probed, his entrance circled by warm, wet fingers…

_It was too much_.

Scorpius choked out, but it wasn't solely because of the pleasurable torture this time. His lungs were on _fire._ The familiar sensation of having his lungs squeezed from the inside came over him, and he gasped out from loss of breath. Tears glistened in his eyes before he shut them, sobbing for Harry to stop, because he couldn't _breathe_, and if the spell continued for any longer he would _die_—

The words refused to leave him, though, and he could barely speak coherently from the rush of colliding feelings moving through him. Harry must have sensed that there was something wrong because he stopped the spell only a minute or two in and cocked his head at Scorpius.

"Too much?" he asked curiously, as Scorpius continued to gasp and pant and writhe on the bed.

Scorpius nodded, shook his head, and then nodded again. He couldn't breathe!

Harry caught on quickly because he rushed to Scorpius' side and peered down at him in concern.

"What's happening?" he asked harshly.

Scorpius opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Panicked tears fell from his eyes as he choked on limited air.

"Shit," Harry cursed, and ran his free hand through his wild, black locks. "Kid, this so isn't the time for you to be catching an attack and dying on me. I mean, what would the Minister think?"

He chuckled humorously for a few seconds before sobering up.

Sighing, Harry rubbed the back of his neck and told him, "I'll get the healers, I suppose. Stay here and don't die, won't you?"

If Scorpius had been able to speak, he would have, quite frankly, told Harry to fuck himself.

Still gasping harshly, wetness stinging his eyes, he watched as Harry slowly strolled towards a dark red door at the end of the cellar, only to pause and turn to him thoughtfully.

"Right. I can't believe I almost forgot." He said absently, and then pointed his wand at Scorpius. Despite his condition, Scorpius was still in enough state of mind to flinch. He relaxed his muscles when his clothes were spelled onto his body, but felt much worse with the heavy material added to his already warm and suffocating body.

"And just to let you know, the healers don't give a fuck what goes on in the interrogation room. Save your breath, Scorp. You're not getting out of here without spilling."

Harry said something so softly that Scorpius couldn't even hear it, opened the door, glanced at Scorpius once more, and then disappeared into it.

* * *

Harry walked through the door that lead to the dorm infirmary, grimacing. It fucking ached to walk with an erection. Luckily he was able to hide his little problem with his robes. He could only imagine the looks he would receive from the healers or any of the other interrogators if there were any in there.

Heading straight he passed a second door and walked right into an open room. He squinted from behind his circular spectacles as the room's bright light washed over him, causing him to wince.

He continued to walk forward until he reached a desk where an unfamiliar witch in a healer's uniform sat.

"Hey," he greeted her with a smile.

The woman looked at him as if she were absolutely bored and sighed, "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Grinning, Harry said, "My captive seems to be having breathing difficulties. It would be great to have someone check on him."

The healer gave him a sharp look. Despite them working in the interrogation dorm, where abuse was _bound_ to happen, they still highly disapproved of causing pain or injury—mentally or physically—to the captives. It had only been the second time that Harry had needed to go to the healers; the other time being when Harry had sounded an ex death eater, Gregeth Morgory, with the thin piece of the man's wand. The older man had had a panic attack and Harry had been forced to call the healers.

"Breathing difficulties?" she asked sternly.

Harry nodded, innocently. "Yeah. Don't know what happened. One minute I was talking to him, the next he was breathing heavier than a Dementor in a room of convicts."

The healer gave Harry a look that clearly said she didn't find him _or_ his joke in the least bit amusing. Harry merely grinned at her again.

Sighing, the woman tapped her wand on the desk three times. A few seconds later a healer rushed out of the back door.

"Which room?" she said, quickly.

"Potters." The woman at the desk responded.

"This way, Mr. Potter!" the healer urged him, and Harry followed her into the direction he just came from.

When they finally reached the door leading to the interrogation room, Harry quickly moved past her and whispered the password to the door. It unhinged and Harry opened it. The healer didn't even look at him as she rushed past and bolted right in, heading straight for the bed that sat in the middle of the room. Harry approached at a much slower pace, and arrived right behind her.

"Oh my goodness!" The healer cried, lifted her wand, and started to do whatever monitoring scan that healers do. The wand beeped and turned blue and the woman gushed again. "He's having an asthma attack, Mr. Potter! How long ago did it start?"

Harry looked at her in concern. "About four, maybe five minutes ago. I ran to the infirmary as soon as I noticed that something was wrong."

The healer nodded to him. "Right. Stay here with him, Mr. Potter. I'll be right back. He needs to take some potions!"

Harry nodded back and the healer nearly ran back to the door. He had purposely left it open, and so she was able to simply pull the metal knob and run through.

Harry took the time she was gone to look over Scorpius.

He was having an asthma attack, that much was obvious. His skin was pale—paler than it had been when he first came to him. His forehead was soaked with sweat, and his hair, damp from it, clung to his face. He was rasping and gasping loudly, as if he was trying to _force_ air into his lungs.

Harry wrinkled his nose. Scorpius Malfoy didn't look very attractive at that moment.

The healer returned within record time, carrying two vials in her hands. She scurried over to them, and as soon as she reached them thrust the blue vial into Harry's hand.

"Hold that," she told him in the midst of administering a red one.

As soon as she held the glass vial to Scorpius' lips, he leaned forward slightly and drank the entire thing. At once his breathing became less labored and he seemed to relax. The healer wiped away a stream of red that dribbled down his cheek and nodded in satisfaction.

"Now the blue one, Mr. Potter."

Harry handed it to her, and she all but snatched it from him.

"Sir, drink this as well."

Scorpius nodded and, with much effort, leaned forward again. The healer popped open the top and brought it down, and Scorpius drank that one down just as quickly.

Before the healer even lifted her hand the color that had once burned Scorpius' face returned, and he breathed in relief.

The healer smiled at him.

"There's a lad." She told him softly, and patted his head.

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. The kid could have murdered hundreds of muggles and the healers still would have treated him like they would any patient. He didn't understand healer laws in the least.

The smile faded from the woman's face and she pursed her lips as she turned to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, if you care at all for this boy's general health, I would advise you leave your interrogations for tomorrow. Any more stress and this boy could easily go into shock!"

Harry shook his head. "Can't have that now, can we?"

The healer gave him a small smile, patted Scorpius's blonde head once again, and then left the room. Harry followed behind her and as soon as the door closed, he hissed the password, successfully locking it. When he turned around again, Scorpius was propped up onto his elbows and looking at him distrustfully.

Harry quirked a brow. "You look like you have something to tell me," he said, in a tone he would use when speaking to Hermione.

The boy sneered at him.

Harry laughed. "You don't trust me, do you? Oh, how mean. I told the healer I would leave you alone for a bit, didn't I? I'm a man of my word, you know."

He walked closer slowly, and Scorpius' eyes followed his every movement.

Despite the potions, he still looked ill. He'd never been one to watch someone vomit.

"Don't worry, Scorp. I won't bother you." He paused thoughtfully, and then amended. "For now."

And with that he turned on his heel and made his way to the second door—a green block of wood, this time. As before, he hissed to it, and it made a creaking sound and softly opened wider. Harry didn't even look back as he disappeared into it, shutting it sharply behind him.

* * *

As soon as the heavy door closed behind him, Harry broke out into a brilliant smile.

So Scorpius Malfoy was asthmatic. Worse, he was prone to getting attacks. _Perfect_. He couldn't have been given a more rewarding present. Scorpius had just unknowingly handed him the line that would be just the thing to reel his father in.

Harry had harbored thoughts of sending a letter to Draco Malfoy, telling him he had his son and would agree to negotiate, but there had been too many faults with that action. Simply having him would have made Draco come—but only eventually. He would have probably set up some plan or other to get his son back, and Harry would have had to put actual _effort_ into keeping them _both_. However, now that he knew Scorpius had such a serious condition... Harry smiled. All he would have to say was "Draco, I have your son who, by the way, is in the midst of having an asthma attack. Do come quickly, yeah? Love, Harry Potter."

Harry laughed. Oh, just bloody _brilliant_.

He hadn't had Scorpius for long, and hadn't done much with him, but it had been fun. Having Draco Malfoy on that table, however…

Harry licked his lips as his already hard cock throbbed almost painfully.

"Paper. Quill." He said aloud, and all but bolted for his bed room; he had a letter to write.

* * *

Draco Malfoy paced the open space of the large dining room, a frantic scowl marring his usually beautiful features.

"It's been two days," he announced loudly, a tinge of hysteria in his voice. "It's been two days and he hasn't returned. He's been captured. God, Scorp's been captured."

He stopped his pacing and buried his face in his hands. "He's been captured," he croaked. Sitting all around the long table were the members of the house, all with mirroring expressions of distress.

"We can't know that," Blaise Zabini tried to be reassuring, but it didn't sound very convincing even to his own ears.

"Then where else would he be?!" Draco snapped wildly.

Blaise didn't answer not only because he didn't wish to be on the opposite side of Draco's wrath, but because he didn't have an answer to offer his suffering friend. It _had_ been too long, and Scorpius knew his way around Knockturn Alley—there was no excuse for his tardiness, except that he had either been captured by the Aurors, or injured somehow. Blaise didn't think it was the latter, though. Scorpius was a tough kid; he could certainly handle himself against Blaise and Theo when they dueled—against Aurors was a whole different matter entirely, however.

"Calm down, Draco," Theo said with forced calm, and Draco turned to him with flashing, silver eyes. "You won't be able to think rationally otherwise."

Draco opened his mouth, fully prepared to argue, but Millicent quickly interjected.

"That's right, Draco," she said quickly, "You won't be able to do anything rational unless you calm yourself."

Draco turned his attention to her, opened his mouth, closed it just as slowly, and sighed.

"He's my _son_," he said slowly, as if that explained every ounce of their sorrows—and to Draco, it did.

"Merlin, what am I going to do?" he croaked, his eyes red. "They'll throw him in Azkaban. He's only a boy!"

There was a long moment of tense silence before it was broken by Greg.

"What are _we_ going to do?"

Theo frowned at him. "What?"

"You know. Where are we going to go? If Scorpius _has_ been captured they aren't simply going to arrest him and lock him up. They'll take him to the interrogators first."

Everyone seemed to still at this sudden revelation.

"Fuck," Daphne breathed.

"What are we going to do?" Millie groaned.

Draco glared hard at the table. "My son… my son has been captured, is probably locked up in a cold cell in Azkaban, and you're worried about them finding us?!"

"Yes, we are!" Millie snapped at him. "You aren't the only one worried about your children, Draco!"

Draco clenched his jaw and turned away from everyone when their stares became too much. Scorpius was gone—he nearly choked at the thought—and already they were acting as if it were something unfortunate that had happened. A mere thorn in their rose bush.

He couldn't hold it back any longer. Everything was too much; the panic, the despair, the grief. Draco parted his lips and let out a scream. It ripped from inside him, curling out like a banshee's roar. He barely noticed that the house had begun to shake. Metal utensils from the table top clattered to the floor, glass plates and cups crashed as they tipped over, and dust from the ceiling dribbled down from the power of his anger.

Vaguely, he heard someone shouting his name, telling him to calm down, that his magic-- as turbulent and unsteady and untamable as it had become after the war (since Harry Potter stole his wand, actually)-- would bring down the manor . But how could he calm down when his son was _gone_?

It was entirely his fault. Scorpius had pleaded with him not to go, that he had a bad feeling about that day. He had allowed his son to convince him, and now he'd lost him.

As soon as the scream died down, the magic causing the house to shake did, as well. He stood in the middle of the dining room, legs apart, arms at his side, and panting heavily. Scorpius was gone. The one thing that had kept Draco sane all these years. The one person who Draco loved above all else. He was his sole family, his only son.

If being found by Aurors meant that he would be with his son again, even in Azkaban—than so be it. He would welcome them with open arms, if it came to it.

"Draco?" Blaise asked tentatively.

Draco ignored him.

Let the Aurors come, he decided. If he and his son had to rot in prison, why shouldn't everyone else, as well?

Draco closed his eyes and sighed. No, he couldn't do that. Not to the people who had become his companions in the many years that they'd been hiding in that house. He couldn't do that to the twins, who were no older than ten years old, and he certainly couldn't do it to his best friend, Blaise.

He would rescue his son on his own. By rescue, he fully meant barging right into the Ministry and demanding him back. He would be arrested and probably be put on trial—Draco snorted aloud. Who was he kidding? A trial? The only reason he and his house mates had even decided to run and hide after the Dark Lord's demise was because they knew that the Wizengamot weren't holding proper trials. Look at what had happened to Vincent Crabbe—he had never killed anyone, never tortured. But because he had that blasted tattoo on his arm, the one that refused to leave even after the Dark Lord died, they arrested him anyway for merely being an accomplice. Crabbe committed suicide only a month after he was brought to Azkaban.

No longer subscribers of the Daily Prophet, they were unable to attain it without leaving the manor, and the wards, and stealing them from nearby places; the small cottage a quarter a mile from them, for instance. Draco and the others wouldn't know what to do if not for the family of wizards who lived nearby who received the ruddy Prophet. It was their sole link to the outside world, what kept them notified of what was happening in the Wizarding World. Without it, for starters, they would have never known that Pansy Parkinson had been caught by the Aurors and sent to Azkaban, where the Dementors continued to patrol. They would have never known that she died after only three months of being in there.

Sad thing, that.

Draco sighed again. It was settled then. He would barge into the Ministry, demand a trial and his son returned—because what had Scorpius ever done to the Wizarding world, except for being born a Malfoy? Aside from living in a house full of ex-Death Eaters, of course. Fuck. Either way, they would shift Scorpius off to Azkaban completely disregarding the fact that he hadn't even been born during the war, if only because of his name.

At least—Draco closed his eyes and breathed through his nose—he wouldn't be in Azkaban alone. Anything was better than that. Draco had feared getting caught and being sent to that place, and that is why he had hidden himself for all those years.

However what was the point of living—if you could even call it that—without Scorp?

"Draco," Blaise tried again, but Draco shook his head and shut him up with a raised hand.

"I'm going to get him," he said plainly, and winced at the loud outburst his exclamation received.

"Are you crazy, Draco?" Theo demanded. "You'll be sent to Azkaban, trial or no! It's a suicide mission, Draco. Scorpius wouldn't want you to do that!"

Draco turned and glared at him. "He's my _son_¸ Nott," he said his last name purposefully. "I don't give a fuck about that. If they want to send me to Azkaban—" and he shrugged, as if it were no big deal, "—fine. But I won't let them send Scorpius to that place. He hasn't _done_ anything."

"But Dray," Daphne said softly, "what if that doesn't work? What if they send him to Azkaban anyway?"

Draco clenched his jaw and said tightly. "Then I'll do my best to keep him sane in Azkaban."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Draco knew it had been Millie.

"There's an underground passageway in the dungeons, leading to the Malfoy Manor in France—Blaise knows where it is. Take everything you can carry with you. There's money in the vault behind my mother's portrait; Blaise, you know how to open that, as well. Take that, too. Not all of it, though. As soon as you get half way down the passage way, there's a set of rings. They will automatically Portkey you that Manor. It only goes one way, so don't forget anything."

Draco grabbed at a fringe of hair at the side of his face and pulled. He winced as the strands plucked from his scalp.

"Here," he said, and handed the strands over to Blaise, who grabbed it hesitantly. "You'll need that to enter the wards. The rings will key you directly inside. As soon as you enter, I'll know it. I'll sign the wards from this manor over to that one. Blaise," he said again, and Blaise raised his crystal blue eyes from the floor, "As soon as it happens, you'll become the secret keeper of the place, as you are of this one. I will not be able to tell a soul of the whereabouts of the place, since I'm unsure of its direct location."

Draco eyed them all intensely. "Understood?"

"Fuck, Draco!" Greg snapped angrily, his large face flushing red.

Draco smiled at him wearily. "Tell me about it."

"You don't have to do this, Draco," Theo pleaded. "You don't. Scorpius wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself for him."

"Making sure my son doesn't land in Azkaban," he said slowly, not looking at anyone, "is the least I could do. He's lived all his life locked up in this house, all because his father was too much of a coward to refuse the Dark Mark. Because of my stupid pride, I caused my child a life of anxiety, darkness, and isolation." Draco shook his head. "This… there is nothing I would not do for him. _Nothing_."

Theo opened his mouth to argue again, but Blaise shut him up with a shake of his head. "It's no use, Theo. Once Draco's made his mind up about something, you know there's nothing that can be done to stop him. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Blaise tried a smile to his best friend, but it came out like more of a grimace.

"Of course," Draco sniffed, and it came out braver than he felt, "I'm a Malfoy, after all."

"I _hate_ this!" Millie suddenly cried, and turned her back to everyone. "What have we _done_ to deserve this life? What have our _children_ done to deserve it?! It's not _fair_!"

Greg opened his large arms widely and Millie flew into them, crying heavily.

"Haven't you ever heard," Daphne spat bitterly, "that life isn't fair?"

"Quit being a bitch, Daph," Theo snapped at her, and Daphne sneered at him.

"Enough!" Blaise shouted, startling everyone.

He growled, a low sound that was just menacing enough to make Draco shiver, and hissed, "We already face opposition from the outside. We don't need to face it amongst ourselves, either."

"Exactly," Draco murmured, because it was true. If they fought amongst themselves… they would truly have nothing left.

A loud crash pulled Draco out of his thoughts, and his head snapped to the window. He noticed a bird perched on the sill, hooting loudly, and frowned. The Daily Prophet had already been delivered for the day. It wasn't as if they received mail from anyone. They would be worried if they did.

Frowning deeper, Draco held up a hand to quiet everyone and walked to the window slowly. He pulled the glass doors open, and at once the bird—a beautiful snowy one that looked so bloody familiar—flew inside.

How had it managed to get past the wards?

The bird circled the dining room slowly, and Draco didn't even have to look to know that the others had pulled out their wands as well, and were pointing it at the ruddy thing. It hooted once more, and landed on the table corner nearest to Draco.

"Who did you come from?" Draco demanded, as if the bird could answer.

The owl hooted again, and pointed its beak—holding tight a white envelope—at Draco. Draco scowled at it and approached carefully. Quick as a Firebolt, he snatched the letter from the bird's beak, causing the envelope to slightly rip at the corner, and ignored the bird as it hooted angrily. The bird gave a glare, shot up from the table, circled the room once more and then soared out through the window and into the skies.

Theo quickly rushed to the window and shut it close.

Draco wasn't worried that the bird had been followed or traced, or even that it could alert anyone of their location—the wards and charms protecting the place wouldn't allow it.

He was, however, worried about the contents of the envelope. How the hell had the bird even made it there?

Draco lifted the envelope to his face, ignoring Blaise's hiss of "be careful", because he was a Slytherin and didn't need to be told that, and at once noticed the strands of silver-blonde hair taped to the back.

Scorpius!

Draco anxiously ripped the letter open and unfolded the brown parchment that was within it. His gray eyes frantically scanned the contents of it, stumbling over the large, messy words, and as soon as it was over it fell from his fingers and fluttered to the floor like a fallen leaf in autumn.

"Draco?" Blaise asked in concern, noticing the pale parlor of his best friend's complexion, "What is it?"

Draco took a moment to remember how to breathe. As soon as he thought himself able to speak coherently—or just speak at all—he turned to his friend with wide, frightened eyes.

"Harry Potter," Draco breathed, the name coming off his lips like a hiss, "has my son. He has Scorpius."

And Draco closed his eyes and allowed old, bitter memories to overtake his mind.

-

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-

**TBC**

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**A/N: **Review, please! ^_^ I love receiving con crit and feedback!


	4. Fourth Interrogation

**The Interrogator**

**_by Reiko Katsura_**

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**Part:04**

* * *

Draco Apparated directly to the location point that the letter had directed him to. _A Portkey shaped like a plastic flower right next to the telephone booth that leads to the Ministry of Magic_, the letter had instructed. Draco hadn't an idea of what "plastic" was, but he knew what a flower looked like, and so as soon as he Apparated to the point, he began his search for one. Sure enough, a white lily was placed on the floor beside the telephone booth.

Draco felt people staring at him, and he knew they were Muggles. The place was littered with them, always had been, and he was wearing his robe with the cloak over his head, looking ridiculously conspicuous. He'd rather be conspicuous to a lot of Muggles, however, than to Wizards who would report him to the Aurors in less time than it would take for him to blink.

Scanning his surroundings, Draco quickly made his way to the white flower bloom and bent so low his knees touched the rough pavement.

Blaise and the others were safe, at least. Before he left, he made sure that they had taken anything that might have been of value, and walked them to the escape route entrance. Draco had hugged them all—Hemsey and Hailey the hardest, because Merlin he would miss those girls—and had properly seen them out. He'd all but had to push Blaise through the door since, at the end, he seemed almost determined to stay with Draco and fight. As if Draco would ever let his best friend join him in a suicide mission.

Draco inhaled deeply. It had been so long since he had last been outside, and able to breathe in fresh air. That had been one of the reasons why he had been so vehement to leave the manor and venture outside, even if it would only be to the dark and murky Knockturn Alley. His own selfishness—his desire to escape the confinement of his house—had been the result of Scorpius's capture. It was his entire fault.

Closing his eyes, Draco reached for the flower and lifted it. As he felt that all too familiar tug at the bottom of his stomach, he bid goodbye to his freedom for the third, and what would surely be the last time.

* * *

Harry felt the pull of the wards surrounding his chambers and grinned. Well, took him long enough.

Casually, he made his way to his office where the wards had opened up. He didn't have to worry about Malfoy attacking him, at least. For starters, he didn't have his wand. If he'd even held one after all these years, it was most probably the belonging of someone else, and an awkward wand-user was no match against him. Perhaps he wasn't as powerful as Albus Dumbledore, but he _was_ strong.

And that's where the second thing came in: he was strong enough to handle Malfoy for sure, and especially with his son in captivity.

Harry grinned. At first, he head been a bit reluctant to truly believe that Malfoy would come. His coming to rescue his son would be a suicide attempt. The Malfoy he'd known in Hogwarts had been a slimy git who wouldn't bother looking in anybody else's way if it meant not being able to focus on himself solely. He was the epitome of conceit. Harry hadn't believed that Malfoy would come for sure until he had told Scorpius what he was up to—in the process of retrieving a few strands of the kid's hair—and Scorpius had begun to sob. Harry recognized the sound in a heart beat; it was one of despair. Without uttering a word, Scorpius had convinced Harry that Malfoy _would_ come, and without a doubt.

Letting the excited smile fall from his face, Harry pushed the door to his office open and walked in. The sight he was given upon entering was enough to make his heart pound, his nostril's flare, and bubbles of elation flood within him.

_Draco_.

"Malfoy," Harry said, and it was much breathier than he had intended it to be. If Draco noticed the oddity of Harry's voice, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he stood in the middle of the office looking every ounce the pure-blood aristocrat he was, or had been.

"Potter," Draco hissed, and Harry loved the way his name slithered angrily through Draco's lips.

"Where's my son?"

Harry placed his wandless hand over his heart and feigned hurt.

"How cruel, Malfoy. We haven't seen each other in what—20 years?—and already you're skipping formalities and cutting the small talk? I'm truly hurt. And here I though we were friends."

"We were never friends, Potter!" Draco spat.

Harry narrowed his eyes and the words snarled through his lips before he could stop them. "No, we were much more than _that_!"

The silver orbs of the man standing before him widened in shock, and just as quickly they shuttered and glared.

Harry sighed dramatically. "Whatever. Fine, then; I'll take you to your precious Scorpius."

He walked to the end of the room without another glance at Draco. As soon as his hands reached the knob, Draco said stonily, "This better not be a trick, Potter."

Harry snorted, not wanting to play that particular game with Draco anymore.

He pulled the door open and waited for Draco to reach him. When the Slytherin made to pass him, Harry stopped him with his arm. "Wand," he ordered, calmly. Draco gave him a venomous glare and all but shoved the wand into Harry's outstretched hand.

"Not that I'm worried of course," Harry told him as he pocketed it. He noticed Draco's eyes follow the wand to his cloak and smirked. "Just 'cause I'm in no mood for petty games."

Draco glared and Harry could almost hear the growl reverberating in the back of his throat. As soon as Draco went past him, Harry allowed himself to lick his dry lips.

Draco was _his_.

* * *

Draco rushed past Potter, fighting against the urge to punch him like a rabid Muggle, and all but ran down the hall leading to an open door. The only thing on his mind was his son.

Draco passed through an open frame and into a room that resembled a cellar. He raked his eyes across it, and his breath caught as his gaze centered in on the middle of the room.

His son was there, naked, lying tied up to a tall green bed. Relief so great at having his son in his sight overwhelmed him, and he almost fell to his knees.

"Scorpius," he breathed, and his legs were running before his mind could tell them to.

Scorpius' head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name, and his eyes widened when he saw Draco running to him.

When Draco reached the bed he grabbed his son's face in his hands and took in every curve, every freckle, every line on his face, as if he were trying to memorize the outline. He bent low and kissed Scorpius on his forehead, inhaling the familiar smell of his son's hair.

He was pale, but his breathing was steady. Draco sighed in relief.

"Dad," Scorpius croaked, his grayish-blue eyes watering, "what are you doing here?"

Draco smiled thinly at him, his hands still cupping Scorpius' pale cheeks.

"Did you think I wouldn't find a way to get to you?" he said, and it was true. Even if Potter hadn't owled him, he would have found a way to get to Scorpius somehow.

"Stupid!" Scorpius snapped, and Draco flinched in alarm,."What do you think your doing? You'll get caught. You'll get sent to Azkaban! What were you thinking?!"

Scorpius' face turned pink in fury, but Draco didn't let that upset him. Instead he smiled—a courageous grin that he hoped would be reassuring—and said, "I would do anything for you. You know that. I may have acted like a foolish Gryffindor, rushing in to save you, but I knew what I was doing. Calling your father stupid! If it had been me, my father would have Crucio'd me."

Draco tried to cheer Scorpius up, even a little, but it didn't seem to work. They were more alike than just in features.

"How did you find me?" Scorpius breathed.

"Potter," Draco said the world as if it were bile, "owled me. Telling me where you were."

"It's a trap!" Scorpius screamed, and Draco flinched again. Merlin, his child was loud. "It's a trap, Dad! He took my hair so his owl could breach the wards! Leave while you can! _Please_, Dad!"

Draco opened his mouth to tell Scorpius that he already knew of what Potter did to get him there—the letter had been anything but evasive or ambiguous—but a low chuckle sounded from behind them, causing Draco to shiver.

"You're a bit late for that, Scorp," Harry said, a laugh in his voice.

Draco turned around and stood in front of Scorpius, and attempt to hide him from Potter's view.

"Potter! What did you do to my son!" he spat.

He noticed Scorpius' nudity for the first time, as well as the chains around his legs and arms, his son's blatant erection.

Potter quirked a brow. "I didn't torture him, if that's what you mean." He supplied, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. His added words caused what color there was in Draco's face to fade. "At least, not in the way you'd think torture was."

Draco saw red.

"You fucking _bastard_!" He screamed, and blindly ran at Harry, his thoughts fixed on blood shed. "You raped my son! You fucking asshole, I'll kill you!"

Potter, apparently, had expected something of Draco's reaction, and in mere seconds Draco was stupefied and stuck to his spot. Vaguely, he could hear Scorpius yelling at Potter to leave his father alone, but Draco was too angry to make much of it. Through his stiffened body he stared at Potter murderously. When Potter sauntered towards him, his eyes positively _dancing_ in delight, Draco wanted to scream. He wanted revenge. He wanted to _hurt_ Potter.

"You're cute when you're angry," Potter whispered as he reached him, and hung his arms over Draco's neck. Though stunned, Draco could still feel the warmth of Potter's body pressing against his own. He inwardly shivered in disgust.

He watched, unable to do a thing, as Potter stepped back and ran his putrid gaze over his body. Draco felt revolted under his display. He wanted nothing more than to rip his eyes out so that Potter would never look at him that way again—him _or_ his son.

"My, Draco—how beautiful you've become." Potter muttered his voice low and husky. Goosebumps broke out under Draco's skin. "You've certainly grown since I last saw you." Potter paused, and then laughed. "Of course you have. It's been nearly twenty years now. Adulthood has been kind to you. You don't look a day over twenty-five." He sighed, "I wish I could say the same for myself. Everyone always tells me I look old. A pity, really."

Unfortunately for Draco, he didn't see it. Potter still looked as boyish and young as ever. Signs of age and growth were evident—such as the soft lines at the corners of Potter's eyes and lips, the incredible height, strong built (still noticeable under thin black robes) and a mass of long, black shaggy hair that fell just past his shoulders. But his other features—the more distinct ones—hadn't changed in the least. Not the soft dimples that dipped into his cheeks, or his vibrant green eyes. Not the damned pink scar that ran like a lightning bolt down the left side of his forehead, or the owlish glasses hooked on a straight, low nose.

No, Draco thought. He didn't look much different from twenty years ago, either.

Potter trailed his fingers down the side of Draco's face, and Scorpius' voice resonated loud and clear through the cellar.

"Don't you touch my father!" he shouted, and Draco inwardly blinked in surprise.

Potter _tsked_. "Your son is loud," he said, frowning. He then turned and pointed his wand at the table.

_No!_ Draco thought frantically, ready to burst from within his stone shell.

But all Potter cast was _Silencio_.

"There." Potter muttered, satisfied. He approached Draco again, and wrapped his arms around his chest. He then lifted him up and turned him around, so that he could fully face Scorpius.

Draco watched as Scorpius looked at him, fear in his wide blue eyes, and he hated Potter more than ever for making his son feel that way.

"You say I raped him, but that isn't so, you know." Potter started, and walked towards Scorpius.

Scorpius' eyes widened further, and Draco mentally screamed at Potter to get the hell away from his son.

"I _interrogated_ him. There's a difference. Plus, there needs to be penetration for it to be considered rape. I suppose what I did borders on molestation, if you need to call it something."

Draco inwardly hissed, and tried to push past his body restraints. It didn't even flex.

"Now, now, Malfoy. I can see it in your eyes, you know. The murderous intent. It's quite endearing." He laughed, and the sound caused Draco to shiver again.

"I did nothing your son didn't want."

Potter reached Scorpius' bed, and Scorpius immediately began to squirm away. The _Silencio_ was still placed on him, so he couldn't speak, but Draco swore he could almost _hear_ his son screaming at Potter to get away from him. Draco pushed again, fruitlessly.

"He's every part your son, you know. The beautiful silver hair, the dazzling gray eyes—though his lean closer to blue. He looks exactly as you did when he was your age. Quite the specimen."

Potter ran his hands along the sides of Scorpius' stomach.

_Stop touching him! Get your hands off him!_

Potter lifted his wand hand and said, "_Aphrosias_".

Draco thought he would be sick. He watched in horror as Scorpius' eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body arched up from the bed. He thrashed around, wantonly, squirming above the green fabric. Potter ended the Silence charm on his son and soon Draco's ears were filled with sound of his son moaning.

To Draco's complete and utter horror, he found himself hardening.

Merlin, he knew that spell all too well. He knew what it felt like—the wonderful sensations that rushed through your body like heat from the tongue. He'd tried many attempts over the years to perfect it, but had never been able to cast it right.

The spell lasted a minute longer, and the moaning got louder, until it was almost screaming.

Draco shivered inside his shell. Fuck, it had been too long since he'd had sex. Four years, almost. There wasn't much he could have done about that, however. There had been no other gay male in the manor. Theo was bi, and he and Draco had sex quite a few times in the years that they had been hiding in the house. But Theo had fallen in love with Daphne, though he never said anything to her, and Theo and his monogamous self had put an end to their night (and day) time liaisons. Even when they were broken up (which was the majority of the time), Theo still continued to remain faithful (though Daphne had no such qualms, and spent quite an awful lot of time with Blaise). Draco and his right hand had become best friends since.

Another lust-filled moan echoed throughout the room and Draco found himself mentally groaning.

Fuck, he was getting hard just hearing his son. How fucked up was that?

"_Finite Incatantem_," Potter pointed his wand at Scorpius's writhing body. Scorpius shivered, then stilled. Potter walked further down the bed, and his hand quickly grabbed onto Scorpius' hard cock.

Draco's son choked a sob and arched up again.

Potter let go, and Draco was horrified when Scorpius whimpered.

"What do you want, Scorp?" Potter breathed, and rubbed the head of Scorpius's cock with his thumb.

"To come!" he cried, and Draco tried so desperately hard to avert his eyes. He couldn't, though. They were glued open, forcing him to take in the sight of his son begging Harry Potter to get him off.

"And if you're a good boy, you will." He smirked, and walked over to Draco, leering, leaving Scorpius trembling and sobbing behind him.

"Now then," he continued, smiling at Draco. "What are we to do with you?"

Draco shivered as Potter's breath ran over his ear. "Call the aurors, have them send you to jail?"

Draco inwardly froze. "Send you both to jail. I hear Azkaban is great this time of year. Such nice weather out. Not that you'll be able to notice, with all the Dementors floating around the place, but…"

A minute passed and Harry sighed. "This is boring. _Finite_!"

The stone-like feeling evaporated from Draco's body, and he blinked twice, rapidly, trying to get used to feeling again. The disconcerting sensation left him quickly enough, and Draco stiffened when he realized that Potter was so close to him.

"You _bastard_," he found his voice, and it was shaking with anger. "You will **pay** for this, Potter!"

Potter laughed. "I'm sure. They always say that, you know. And then they're shipped off to Azkaban and die or go mad before they keep their promise. Sad, isn't it? I'm destined to be lied to."

Fear bolted in Draco, like lightening, and he had to hold back a gasp. Azkaban. The place that he had feared being sent to for all these years. The reason he had hid, rather than appear for a trial. Before, Draco would have done anything to not be sent there. _Anything_.

Now, he would do anything for his son not to be.

There was no preventing it. Draco knew what he had to do when he made up his mind to come there. He made his choice, and he would have to live with it. He was sick of being a coward. What his son must think of him. What he would think of him after this.

He glanced over Potter's shoulders, towards the bed, Draco's heart beat quickened when his eyes locked onto Scorpius'. They looked so pained, so scared.

Draco closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Please, he prayed. To what or to whom, he didn't know, but he prayed. Please let me save my son.

"P-please, Potter," the words felt like acid on his tongue. He couldn't bear to lift up his head and look into those green orbs that will undoubtedly mock him. Still, he pushed forward. "Please. I don't care if you send me to Azkaban, please just don't send Scorpius." _Bastard_, Draco added for good measure, because he was going to die from humiliation and shame.

There was silence, and then Potter said, "Why shouldn't I? He's the son of a Death Eater, has been living with one—and probably more—since he was born. He's an accomplice, probably a part of some grand scheme of you Death Eaters to take over the world again. Why shouldn't I?"

"Because he's innocent!" Draco snapped, more harshly and louder than he intended. "He wasn't even _born_ during the war. He doesn't know _who_ Voldemort is, or most of what he'd done. He's innocent!" Draco looked up, his eyes pleading. But he didn't care. He had to get Potter to understand.

"_Please_. He's innocent. He's just a boy. Please, Potter!"

Draco's breath was slightly erratic from his frantic rant, and he locked eyes with Potter, refusing to look away. Let him see his desperation. He didn't care.

"Please," he said again, when moments had passed and Potter refused to say anything, let alone move. "Please."

More moments of silence passed, and despite what Draco said, he couldn't bring himself to ask again.

Eventually, Potter hummed.

He opened his mouth, and Draco was prepared for a refusal or rejection, but got something else entirely.

"Did you ever tell your son that we were lovers?" he said, and though his voice had been low when he said it, it was loud enough to carry out into the room.

Draco inhaled sharply, and his eyes traveled once again to Scorpius. His hope that his son hadn't heard was shot when Scorpius looked at him with huge, bewildered eyes. Potter followed his gaze, and then smirked at Scorpius.

"Oh, yes. Sixth year at Hogwarts. We fucked like Veelas in heat for almost five months. Or was it six? Draco?"

Draco noticed the change from surname. He also noticed that Potter had asked him a question. He was still too shocked from the topic to breach to react, though.

"You see, Scorpius," he spoke to Scorpius, though his stare was targeted on Draco, "one day I found your father crying in a girl's bathroom on the first floor. I thought he looked _beautiful_. He caught me, threw a hex, and we ended up dueling. Our dueling led to fist fighting, and our fist fighting led to groping, and our groping led to passionate sex on the floor of a girls bathroom. It didn't stop there, though. It continued, on and on and on, for months. In front of everyone and—" Harry chuckled lightly, "—even when we were alone. We met up almost three times a week for months, fucking each other's brains out in various rooms in the castle."

Harry's expression darkened and Draco found that it had become even harder to breathe. "A little over a month before the year ended—a week before your father decided to invite all his little Death Eater friends along to terrorize poor defenseless children, as well—"

Draco closed his eyes, fighting back memories of that night. It haunted him already too much. Having it repeated aloud was like stabbing an open wound that refused to heal properly.

"—I told him I loved him."

Draco flinched, and from far away he heard an intake of breath, and knew it to be Scorpius.

"I told him I loved him, and you know what he told me? He said, 'Don't expect it to be reciprocated, Potter. I don't love you, never have, and never will. You're a good fuck, and that's the only relationship we have', and then slid out of me, before either of us could come, and started getting dressed. Right before he left he added, 'I was going to tell you that I'd had enough of fucking around with you. You're boring. Now's a good a time as ever, I suppose', and then left. Just like that, he left. A week later he finds away to bring in a group of Death Eaters to the school and a rabid werewolf. Best break-up present ever, I think."

Draco's heart was pounding in his chest. He didn't want to _hear_ this.

"I was heart broken for a long time, afterward. Devastated when, just a day later, you were sucking face with _fucking Pansy Parkinson_."

Potter snarled, and for a moment Draco didn't even think he realized he was there. He was lost in it. It would have been a perfect time to do something, to do anything, to Potter—kick him in the balls, punch him in the face, strangle him, _anything_. But he found that he couldn't move, also so lost in the words and memories that Potter brought back.

"I went on this grand mission with Dumbledore—" Draco flinched, "—and couldn't even pay attention. Dumbles drank some painful potion or other, asked for some water, and I was so bloody out of it that I didn't even stop to _think_ that maybe the potion _caused_ extreme thirst to the drinker, knowing that the only source of water around was a lake full of Inferi. Dumbledore used his last bit of magic to get us out of there alive. That last bit of magic would have come in handy when Draco—darling Draco—decided to pop up and point his wand at him. Of course, I was so shocked and fixed on the sight of the person who broke my heart to react, and then in comes Snape and kills him."

Potter—no, _Harry_­, because it was a lot more personal now­­­­— clenched his jaw, in anger. "Yes," he hissed, and if he hadn't been able to understand it, Draco would have thought he had spoken in Parseltongue. "Best break up present _ever_."

Harry then continued, his anger calming, though not disappearing. There was an aura of agitated magic circling lightly around him, and it made Draco gulp and take a step back.

"You broke my heart, Draco. I was never the same after that. 'Mione and Ron wouldn't get off my case, telling me I was all moody and depressing, and acting as if they couldn't handle me. Seventh year, when I left school in search of Voldemort, it had been you who had been on my mind. After all, you were a Death Eater, Voldemort's _lackey_." Harry spat, and a dribble of spittle flew on Draco's cheek, Draco was far too entranced to wipe it away.

"Wherever he was, you would be. At least, that's what I thought. The final battle came, I beat Voldemort, but you were nowhere to be found. Gone, missing with the other load of Death Eaters who fled and went into hiding. I still thought about you, even a year after the battle. Even two years, and five years, and sometimes even after ten and fifteen. I'd finally, _finally_¸ stopped thinking of you—stopped thinking of wanting to take my revenge, when along comes _Pansy Parkinson_."

Draco shivered at the way Harry said her name, as if there were a freshly baked turkey sitting on a table before his eyes.

"Oh, how much _fun_ I had with her. By the third day she was _begging_ me to kill her. Just _begging_. I tortured her, a bit more violently than I did with the others. I cast _Aphrosias_ on her for _hours_. She begged and pleaded to let her come, and then when she knew I wouldn't, her cries changed tune. She wanted me to _kill her_."

Harry smiled, almost warmly.

"I taunted her. She had no right, stealing what was mine. I imagined her kissing you—sucking your face with her ugly lips—and so I rammed my cock into hers until she could hardly breathe."

Something tugged in Draco's stomach, and he whimpered. Harry had gotten so much closer, and he hadn't even noticed. He still wasn't noticing, really. He was still so enraptured by the man in front of him, so different from how he remembered him. Harry, back then, had been kind. Quick to anger, yes, and hurtful at times, but _kind_.

He'd been _sane_.

"And then I figured what she must have done to you with that fucking seeping pussy of hers, and I took that, too."

Harry was leaning into him, his arms holding tightly to Draco's back, and he continued to reiterate the past in his ear. It was soft, but Draco had no doubt that Scorpius was hearing everything.

"I tore her legs open, and she started screaming. It was futile; she couldn't even move. I positioned myself right on top of her, and drove right it."

Something hard pressed into Draco's leg, and he quivered in _feeling_.

"I pounded into her for hours, until I couldn't get it up anymore. The spell I cast on her days before didn't allow her to come. She suffered, over and over and over, the feeling before climax, the torture of being unable to. She sobbed and screamed, letting out every little secret of hers. There hadn't been much to pull from her, and certainly nothing very useful, but that didn't matter. She had to _suffer_. She had no right—touching what was mine."

Draco was pushed, hard, into the wall, and he tried, feebly, to shove Harry away. But Harry was too strong. He (Draco?)was hard as _fuck_ now, and wanted nothing more than for Harry to get away from him.

"It went on for two weeks. In the end, she was such a mess. I didn't even allow the healers a chance to look at her. I sent her straight to Azkaban, on the second landing where the Dementors didn't roam, in a cell near the men's quarters. Poor Pansy Parkinson, raped over and over and unable to get anything from it. She died only a month in there, I think. Tragic. What a horrible way to die."

Harry cupped the hot, aching bulge that formed between Draco's thighs, and it took everything in his power not to moan at the contact. He was _sick_—getting hard over a story like that. Or maybe it was because Harry's hands were sinking into the skin of his back and shoulders. Maybe because it had been so long, and Draco severely missed the feel of having someone's breathe tickle the lobe of his ear, of the feel of a cock rubbing against his leg.

"Let me go!" he growled, and tried again to push Harry away.

Harry barely moved an inch. Instead, he leaned closer and said, "You don't want me to send your son to Azkaban, Draco? Then how about a deal."

Draco's eyes widened, and he looked at Harry sharply.

"If you can keep from coming for five minutes, I won't turn Scorpius in. Moreover, I'll even _hide_ him for you, Draco."

Draco's breath caught, and held.

"If you come during the five minutes, the deal's off."

Sex? The deal was based on sex?

Dread grew in Draco. There was no way he would be able to win. It had been too long. Too long since he had sex, and even too long since he wanked properly. A hand to his cock alone would have him finished in seconds.

Draco opened his mouth, prepared to demand something else, but Harry quelled it with a shake of his head and a finger to Draco's lips. "That's the only negotiation I'll make. Take it or leave it."

"Dad, don't!"

Alarmed at the extra voice, Draco turned around to see Scorpius leaning up as much as he could, his elbows pressed to the bed, his eyes pleading with him.

"Don't. You don't have to. _Please_."

Draco looked away. With shame building his chest, he exhaled shakily and nodded.

Harry had no such hesitation.

"Excellent!" he hissed, and before Draco could even register what was happening, his chest was pressed against the wall and his robed were gone, banished to the floor beside his feet in a pool of black cloth.

"You won't even last two minutes, I assure you," Harry breathed into the back of his neck, and Draco's breath hitched. It continued to do so as Harry made his way down the line of Draco's spine, licking and lapping at the pale skin.

Two warm hands grabbed the cheeks of Draco's bare arse, and he gasped.

He didn't _want_ Potter touching him. _He hated_ it. He wanted him to _stop_.

Because he knew that, if Harry was anything like he had been in Hogwarts—always knowing what to do and where to touch to make Draco go wild—he would become absolute putty in his hands.

His cheeks were spread apart, and a cold drift flickered along the inside of Draco's arse, making him shivered.

When Draco felt the heat of a tongue probe into his hole—which hadn't been touched in so_ fucking long­­_-- he bit the inside of his cheek to keep him from moaning and tried to push his front away from the wall to prevent friction of any kind to his throbbing cock.

Harry, apparently, had taken it for eagerness, because he pushed his face further inside, and Draco could almost feel the grin on his face, and with the flat of his tongue licked a long wet trail from the top of his balls to the sensitive skin above his opening.

Draco couldn't hold it back that time.

"Like that, don't you?" Harry breathed, his breath hot and heavy on the inside of Draco's ass. "You always did."

As the tongue began to probe and lick and lap and slide, and suck on Draco's hole with wetness and deep suction and expert movements, Draco found that couldn't keep _any_ sound back. He was pushing into Potter's face, not wanting to and yet wanting so bad, and even though he knew that he must have seemed like a whore to both Potter and his son—whom Harry was making Draco forget was there, at times—he couldn't stop the sounds that ripped from his lips, so high and pleasurable and wanton.

Just as before, faster than Draco could even think, Harry turned him around by the hips so that Draco's wet ass was spread against the wall, and his cock was jutting red and hard in Harry's face.

A warm hand enveloped his throbbing member, and Draco had to force himself not to come from the initial contact.

Much to Draco's humiliation, Harry chuckled.

"I'm surprised you lasted this long," he said, and all at once Draco's dick was enveloped by a warm, eager mouth.

"Fuck!" and he wasn't sure if it had been a hiss or a groan. Then Harry laughed lightly with Draco's cock still in his mouth, and the little vibrations that caused made Draco shut his eyes and arch.

Harry nipped at the tender flesh under his balls, massaging them lightly with the tips of his warm fingers, and Draco whimpered.

_Don't come. _

The entire of Draco's cock was engulfed—to Draco's surprise, since he was not in any way _small_l—and he whimpered again, and then groaned.

_Don't come…_

Harry continued, kissing and sucking at random places, rubbing the head with his thumb and using his nail to softly run over his slit, pulling on his balls, and deep throating his entire length, sucking like he was trying to vacuum his orgasm from him.

_Don't come… _

Draco was shaking, trying to hold back his impending orgasm. He tried to think of every gross thing he could—Greg and Millie having sex, Filch sleeping with his cat, kissing a weasel—but then Harry would do that thing he did where he pulled Draco's cock up so the tip reached his belly, pre-cum smearing his pale skin, and licked the underside of his cock like a lollipop, scraping his teeth gently against the sensitive skin, breathing over it with his hot breath, curling his damp, blonde pubic hairs with his long fingers; and Draco world would shatter and he would be forced to start back at square one.

_Don't come…_

Draco dared glancing down, and as soon as he did he regretted it. The sight of Harry's head bobbing up and down on his dick was too much.

"_Ah_!"

With a cry, Draco came—pushing his hips forward and coming so hard it _hurt_. It seemed to last hours—or at least minutes—him shooting off in Harry's mouth, non stop, as wave after wave of pleasurable release shocked every inch of his senses.

When finally the last drop had been spilled, Draco fell to the ground, his knees weak. He couldn't even think, his orgasm had been that powerful. He still felt ripples of electricity move through him, starting from the tips of his curled toes the top of his dazed head. He was still hard. Not nearly as much as he had been before, but his cock was definitely stiff.

When his head finally managed to clear, it felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head.

"No…" he gasped, and shook his head. "No…"

He'd come. He'd come, and it certainly hadn't been five minutes.

He'd come, and he just sent his son to Azkaban.

"Please," he said frantically, and his head shot up. He would beg for another negotiation. Another bet. Fuck, he would even _suck Harry off_. Anything!

But what he saw when he looked up was enough to make his mouth shut closed and caused him to push back into the wall.

"W-wha—" Draco stammered, weary of the way Harry was looking at him. _Leering_ at him.

He didn't have a chance to say anything more when Harry dropped to the floor over him and all but threw himself on top of him.

"Potter!" Draco cried, as his hands were held together over his head by one of Harry's strong hands, and the other hand tearing his legs apart. Harry removed that hand so that his knees could take their place, making it more successful for him to keep Draco's legs open.

"Potter, stop it!"

"No!" Harry growled, and Draco froze. He almost hadn't been expecting an answer.

"_Silencio_!" he spat and Draco realized that his son had been screaming at Harry to stop.

"I'm going to fuck you, Draco," he growled, and Draco drew back at the mad, blazing look in his eye. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll be screaming with my name on your lips."

With another flick of the wand, his own clothes were gone, scattered somewhere in the room where Draco couldn't see.

"Stop!" he cried again, afraid. But Harry wasn't listening. He positioned himself right over Draco, and wandlessly cast some spell to bind his hands together and to the floor.

Draco closed his eyes tightly, anticipating the inevitable, but even that anticipation was not enough for the searing pain that struck through him when Harry drove in.

He cried out, and tears fell from his eyes as Harry pulled back out all the way and slammed in. It was too much. It had been too long. Without even minimum stretching, time to relax, or lube for comfortable access, it felt as if a knife had been stabbed into him.

He cried out again when Harry repeated the thrust. On and on it went, painful and torturous and wild, and Draco kept his eyes shut tight, tears marring them, and cries for Potter to just _stop_ at his lips. It hurt too _much. _

Finally, _finally_, Harry froze, and shot his load off in Draco. Draco felt himself being filled by warm liquid, but he paid no mind to it. He couldn't get past the burning sting that began to throb from within him.

So he cried—because he was never one to handle pain—even when Harry pulled out, and even when both their cum was spelled clean, and even when his body was lifted to the floor by the same man and brought to a large, conjured bed.

It _hurt_.

Everything. His body, his arse, his _heart_.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Harry said quietly, over Draco's sobs. "To have something important to you taken away." Draco didn't know what or whom he was referring to—his arse or Scorpius—but it didn't matter, because it _both_ hurt.

"What you just felt, like you were being ripped to shreds, is how _I_ felt when you left." The words were quiet, but Draco felt the anger simmering above them.

"You hurt me, too," he continued. "My revenge isn't over."

Draco cried out when Harry moved over him on the Harry's hand rested on his chest, he tried to push it away with his now-free hand, but Harry simply held onto it.

"Shh," he whispered, "don't worry. I'll make this time good for you. I'll let you come."

Draco didn't respond. Instead, he lay there, trembling. He was thirty-seven years old. A grown man, and he was crying like a child. Cowering like a babe.

He hadn't felt so disgusted with himself in years.

"Shh," Harry whispered again, and true to his word, the second time was more pleasant. As pleasant as it could get for someone who truly didn't want it.

Harry was gentle; his movements were slow and practiced. They hovered and pressed over every inch of his frame, as did his tongue and mouth. He took his time, slowly building up the heat in Draco's stomach. He sucked on his nipples, pinching the hardened nubs with his teeth, and causing Draco to groan into his shoulder. He nipped on his collar bone and shoulders, lapped at his stomach and navel, suckled on his pubic bone and licked at the hair above his cock. He ran kisses from his ankles to his thighs, and circled at them with warm hands.

By the time his mouth reached Draco's hardness, he was already a dazed mess.

Harry didn't suck it for long. When he removed his mouth, he came away with a large _pop_, and smiled crookedly when Draco—unconsciously—whined.

When Harry pulled Draco's legs apart, Draco stiffened in fear.

"I won't hurt you," Harry soothed, and eased his legs apart.

He hadn't lied to him about that, too. He muttered a healing spell to clean and close off any rips that Draco had endured during the previous penetration. He summoned lube and coated his hand fingers in it. Harry pumped at his own cock as he pumped his lubed fingers into Draco's arse. He pushed his dick in slowly, so slowly that Draco felt nothing else aside from fullness. Harry pushed out, and went in at the same pace.

On and on it went like that, Harry moving in an out slowly, causing small ripples of pleasure to wash over him. Draco moaned here and there, every time the head of Harry's cock hit his prostate.

After a while it became too slow, and before Draco could stop himself he was demanding that Harry hurry up.

Harry smiled at him, and Draco nearly cried.

The movements became more rapid, then, the thrusts harder and specific. Harry angled for the spot that made Draco see white, over and over, and over and over Draco moaned aloud, gripping Harry's middle with his legs and trying to impale himself further into him. When it became too much, Draco came—pulsing and shuddering. Without meaning to, he closed himself tightly around Harry, and Harry groaned.

As soon as he started to come Harry pulled out, delaying his orgasm for as long as he could as he continued to slide his cock through Draco's arse, coming over his cheeks and balls and lower back.

The feel of come on him made Draco moan.

Tired, he fell onto the mattress, and grunted when Harry fell, exhaustedly, on top of him.

"I loved you."

He felt the figure on top of him tense, and Draco let the words that he had always wanted to say, yet never could, rush out.

"Back then, I loved you, too."

Silence ensued, before Harry lifted himself from Draco's back and asked, "Then why did you do it?"

Do it. Do _what_? There were so many things that Draco had done wrong. He didn't know where to start in listing all the mistakes he'd made in the past, and frankly, he didn't want to.

"Because…because you chose that Weasel bint over me. And because I wouldn't go against my family. And because Voldemort—" it had taken Draco almost five years to be able to hear the Dark Lord's name without flinching. It had taken him another two to be able to say it, "—threatened to kill my mother."

More silence ensued. Harry broke it, eventually, with a tone that was like ice.

"It doesn't matter. What's done is done. I'm not through taking my revenge."

Draco closed his eyes and lowered his head, and he felt like he would throw up.

"I know."

A whole minute passed before Harry spoke again. "Scorpius. Who's his mother?"

Draco didn't hesitate to answer for Scorpius. She was dead, and completely safe from Harry's wrath.

"Astoria Greengrass."

Draco could have sworn that Harry hissed.

"Where is she?" he demanded, turning around and glaring at Draco. Draco flinched.

"Dead."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who else have you slept with since Hogwarts?"

_Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson. _

"No one."

Harry narrowed his eyes further.

"I don't believe you," he said dangerously, and Draco clenched his jaw. "No worries. I'll find out. That's my job, after all. I'm an interrogator."

Draco dropped his head again, unable to look Harry in the eye anymore. His head hurt. It... this…_everything_… was just too much. His head felt like it was about to explode.

"You and Scorpius will move into Grimmauld Place."

Draco's head shot up, and he stared at Harry with wide eyes.

"It's my safety house," Harry told him, as if Draco hadn't even done anything. "Heavily warded, and nearly as protected as the Ministry is. You'll live there, under my protection. I haven't had my revenge yet, and I can't do it with you in Azkaban."

Draco's eyes continued to widen.

"Wha—b-but!"

"So you'd rather be sent to Azkaban?" Harry asked, condescendingly.

Draco clenched his teeth and glared. Who was _he_ to speak to him as if he were some child?

"Fuck you, Potter!" Draco spat, venomously, his shoulders shaking in fury. He'd allowed himself to be the fool one too many times that day already. He allowed himself to vulnerable, pathetic; _weak_.

Harry snorted at him. He fished his hand in his pocket and retrieved the extra wand. Quickly he tossed it at Draco and Draco's hand instinctively shot out and grabbed it.

"Get dressed," he demanded, "and release your son. I'll be back shortly. And do refrain from trying to escape." He narrowed his eyes. "One wrong move, Malfoy, and I'll have both you and your son's ass tossed in Azkaban, in a cell next to Pansy Parkinson's fucking corpse."

He didn't even bother to glance at Draco as he turned on his heel and stalked off, still naked, heading in the direction of the open door.

Right before he entered he paused, and then called out in a voice that was meant to chastise. "I didn't choose Ginny, you know," he said, and then continued to walk forward. His voice rang out from the hall. "When you saw us, she was kissing _me_."

Draco stared after him, unaware that he wasn't breathing. When the lack of air caused his chest to constrict, Draco gasped loudly.

Shaking his head, mind numb and still not knowing what the hell just happened—and not too clear on _how_ it happened—he turned around, and gaped when he saw his son, staring at him with narrowed, furious eyes, and still chained to the bed.

Draco let out a small, almost crazed laugh, and buried his head in his hands.

They weren't going to Azkaban. They were going to live in Harry's house. Harry Potter—who Draco was convinced was absolutely nutters, decided to protect them.

They weren't going to Azkaban.

Draco let out a shaky breath, and sighed. He threw his legs over the bed, dropped to the floor, and winced as a sharp pain shot up his ass and spine.

"Fucking bastard," he cursed, and made his way to the infuriated son who he had forgotten was there.

* * *

"I can't believe you finally decided to leave your job, mate," Ron thumped Harry on the back, and Harry chuckled softly. "'Mione will be stoked. She absolutely hates your job, you know. Thinks it changed you."

Harry smiled. "Hermione worries too much."

Ron nodded. "Tell me about it. Anyways, why _did_ you decide to leave your job? I though you liked being an interrogator."

Harry shrugged.

Harry had just finished handing in his letter of resignation to the Minister. Kingsley had nearly had a fit, and Harry had to solemnly explain that he was so _tired_ of interrogating and dealing with the dark. He was already thirty-eight. He wanted to settle down, maybe start a family, and take on a lighter job. When he told Kingsley _that_, the Minister had all but threw him out of the office and told him never to come back.

"I guess you were right. It _is_ a rather dark job. I'm getting a bit tired of dealing with dark wizards all the time. Plus, it sucks not being able to tell you anything. I always feel bad afterward."

Ron stopped and turned to face him, and Harry did the same. He clapped Harry on the shoulder, and gave him a beaming smile.

"Honestly, Harry, I thought the job changed you a little, too. You became distant, and seemed to be depressed more. I'm happy you decided to change. Glad to have you back, mate."

Harry gave Ron a brilliant smile, and Ron's own grin grew in size.

"Where're you headed, now?" Ron asked, as they continued walking.

"Home. I'm tired as hell. Up all night finishing reports I needed to before I could hand in a resignation form."

His best friend turned and coyly quirked a brow. "Sure about that, Harry? You don't have one of those "one-night-stands" waiting for you at your place?"

Harry laughed.

"No, none of those. I haven't had sex in ages."

It was Ron's turn to laugh. "Poor little Harry," he joked, and Harry nudged him playfully in the side.

Ron walked Harry to the lift; bid him good bye, made him promise to come over for dinner sometime that week, and then jogged off down the opposite corridor.

In the elevator, he joked with all his co-workers and laughed boisterously. He bid goodbye everyone he came across, flirted with the witch at the front desk, and left the Ministry with a hop in his step.

As soon as Harry was far enough to Apparate, he did so, and landed right in the middle of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

He tore off his shoes, tie, cloak, and threw them on the floor by the foyer. He passed the annihilated portrait that had been Mrs. Black, walked down the long hallway, and headed up the stairs. He stopped at the second floor, and made it down the landing. Harry passed three doors before he made it to the last one on the right side of the hall. He paused for a second before turning the knob, and then opened it slowly.

Harry walked in, quietly, his front facing the door. He closed the door softly, and turned around. The sight he saw pulled a smirk from his lips.

Draco Malfoy lay naked, half covered in green silk sheets, on a large white canopy bed. His son, similarly entangled, lay next to him.

The sound of soft snoring was like music to his ears. He crept forward, at a measured pace, and pulled the transparent white cloth that hung from metal poles to the side, getting a much better visual of the both of them.

He had fucked Draco and Scorpius so hard last night they couldn't even walk.

Harry kneeled onto the large bed and crawled his way over to the sleeping blondes.

He'd demanded they tell him who else Draco slept with after Hogwarts, but they had refused to give names, instead denying and saying it was no one. Harry had _tortured_ them all night long, yet they still kept their mouths shut.

Harry ran a finger delicately over Scorpius' cock, and the limp anatomy, covered with stale, day old come, stirred.

Well, he mused, as he turned over and did the same to Draco who, to his delight, reacted the same. He would have to try again.

With both hands he encircled the both of them, and smirked when he heard twin moans of despair.

He smirked wider.

Merlin, did he love being an interrogator.

-

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-

**END.**

* * *

**A/N: And that's the end of "The Interrogator". I truly enjoyed writing this fic, and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. I hadn't intended the fic to surpass 5k, but.. it somehow ended up becoming _this_ massive thing. There might be a few typos in the story, and I apologize for that. Even with four betas, weit was still a rush job. This story was written in a week, and with only half a week to beta it... well, you can pretty much imagine ^_^ **

**This was my first time writing such extreme smut, and so much of it! I hope I did a good job in that aspect. **

**If you enjoyed this story, please review! Thanks for reading!**

**~Reiko Katsura**

**UPDATE: **I forgot to mention that I will be writing a "lost scene" of sorts. One of my betas was highly disappointed that I did not write Scorpius and Draco's first night at Harry's house, and to be honest, I kind of am, as well! =p I don't know when it will be published (it shouldn't be too long in coming, though), but it will be separate from this (meaning, as a separate story). The ending of the story was left somewhat open intentionally, since I'd hoped to enact a "hopeful" ending, rather than a solid, happy one. Still, the one shot should give everyone a further view into Scorpius, Harry, and Draco's possible relationship. I can assure everyone now, though, that the future for the boys isn't fluffy in the least. Once again, thanks for reading!


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Harry Potter, Crime, Romance